


Cloud Nine

by snowkatze



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 08:23:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14468715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowkatze/pseuds/snowkatze
Summary: Whilst Simon can deny his crush on Baz, he can’t deny the thoughts he keeps having about them - going to prom together. That leaves him with no other choice but to ask him out.





	Cloud Nine

I've never been good at dancing. Every year at prom, I make a fool of myself. Every year it's the same – an evening of Agatha's eye rolls, her pained expression when I step on her feet and my desperate search for excuses to get back to the buffet. But I don't know what it's going to be like this year. Because Agatha is not my girlfriend any more, and I'm not sure if she's still my friend. But I have to go, obviously, because it's my last year at Watford and I can't miss out on that. On anything. And I can't say that I haven't imagined it. With him. I know that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. And he's a graceful dancer.

I really shouldn't ask him. I'm a mess. We both know I'm a mess. He would only laugh at me. And it's not like he wants to. But the idea of it has caused a really painful longing in my chest – the longing for his hands on my arm, his soft whispers, his easy smile and his eyes, grey eyes burning into my soul. It's all I can think about.

So I guess it's settled – I'm making a fool of myself again. At least one thing I'm quite good at.

I'm thinking about the right time to pop the question. When he's getting ready for sleep, when he's lying in the bed across the room, when we sit together in the dining room. My enemy. No, not my enemy. We're on a truce. My almost-friend. But whenever I try to speak up, the words get stuck in my throat.

I'm sitting in class, and it's all I can think of. Music. Dancing. Crowley, I'm a horrible dancer. And I'm horrible, and I have horrible dreams, but I can't stop myself. Smirks and that mischievous glint in his eyes. And all the what-ifs – too many what-ifs, too many questions of what it'd be like, not to consider it. Would he give me a rose? Would he take my hand? Would he want to dance to the slow songs? Would he be a charmer, a gentlemen? Or would he still tease me?

I have to at least ask. I want to tap his shoulder, but he seems to actually concentrate on the class. I should too, but I can't get the thoughts out of my head. That's why I have to ask. Once he's rejected me and made it clear that there's not the slightest chance of any dancing happening, that's when I can stop thinking about it. (When I _have to_ stop thinking about it.)  
It's not like I like him. Like that. Obviously. It's just that I want to know what the soft fabric of his suit would feel like underneath my fingers. What he would smell like from up-close, so close that my nose is almost touching his temple. It's not like I want to kiss him, or go on dates with him, or tell him I'm desperately in love with him. (Except maybe once, only to know what it would be like. But not in a way that he would ever remember – I would do it if it were a video game and I could just go back to the way it was before. No lasting damages.)

But it's just a dance. It's not a confession. I can ask him (and it won't be too horrible, I suppose). Except I can't get the words out. Physically. I'm bright red, and I can't say it. I rip a piece off the paper in front of me and scribble it onto it.   
“Will you go to prom with me?”

Perfect. Now I only have to slide it over to him. Except I can't do it, and my hands are frozen around the piece of paper.  _Not a love confession, for Crowley's sake._ It's not a big deal. It's not even a grand gesture. Just sliding it over. But it seems like a mountain to overcome. I side-eye him and watch the line of his nose, his brow furrowing slightly, because he's thinking, and I manage to relax my hands, and not crush the paper too hard. It's the only way to get the thoughts out of my head. I put the paper in front of him, and he frowns, about to ask me a question, but then he picks it up and reads the line. I hold my breath and wait. He's going to rip the paper apart, no doubt. But he just keeps staring at it.

“Baz,” I whisper, and I want to take everything back. It's like he doesn't even notice me. The bell rings and the room starts getting noisy, but he doesn't move. Everyone leaves the room, except for him and me, and I keep waiting.  
“Baz,” I repeat, because I don't know what else to say to fix this. I reach for the paper.  
“Just – just forget about it -” I say. If there's one thing I know it's how to properly embarrass myself. Crowely, I'm an idiot. But just before I can take the paper, he swats my hand away.

“Yes,” he says courtly and leaves the room before I have the chance to answer.

* * *

“Why are you grinning like that?” Penny asks at dinner.  
“I'm not grinning,” I say.

“Yes, you are,” she frowns. “You have been all day.”  
I move my lips and realize that, yes, I have been grinning. Huh. I bite it back.

“I don't – It's not like it's a date. It's not like that.”  
“You have a date? With whom?”  
“ _Not_ a date. With Baz.”  
“What? You have a non-date with Baz? How did that happen?”  
“It _didn't_ happen. Nothing happened. Except... he said yes.”  
I can feel the grin again. Dammit.

“Simon, you're going to have to be a little more clear. I'm not a mind-reader. Yet.”

“Oh, sorry.”

I wonder if Baz is going to wear a new suit. And what colour it's going to be. I think gray suits him best. It would match his eyes.

“Simon?”  
He has worn a gray suit in fifth year. A blue one last year. Obviously, he can make anything work. He's infuriatingly perfect. Must be a vampire thing.

“Simon.”

“What?”  
“You were telling me how you and Baz are going to get married.”  
“W-what?! No. I didn't – Why would you say that? It's not like – No. It's not a date. Friends can go to prom together, right?”

I'm blushing again.

“Sure,” Penny muses. “But the don't usually make this much of a fuzz about it. What's going on, Simon?”  
I sigh.

“I might have... noticed some... urges. Now that we're friends with Baz.”  
“Urges?”  
“Not – not like that. I just... he's just... he's really, really pretty, you know what I mean?”  
“Aha,” she says and looks at me like she knows something I don't, and it infuriates me.

“I just want to hold his hand. That's all.”  
“I get it. I... I guess this makes sense.”

“So... We're going to prom together. I asked him. He said yes. It was awesome.”

“I'm sorry, Simon, but this sounds a lot like you -”  
“No. Don't say it. Please.”  
“I think you've got it bad for him.”  
“No! No. I don't have _anything.”  
_ Just a little crush, at most.

She looks at me sceptically.  
“Sure. Whatever you say.”  
I look at her, distraught, and I must look somewhat lost, because she takes pity on me.

“So, there's this new spell that I've discovered...”  
And I can breathe again.

* * *

 

Baz wears a suit that matches his eyes. He looks great.

“You look great,” I tell him, because I've got no filter.

“You're not so bad yourself,” he skims my outfit, “Snow.”

I smile, hopefully not too nervously, and look towards the dance floor. I don't know how to ask. There are a few couples swaying, but not really dancing. The song is slow. Probably not the best one to dance to with a friend. I should wait.

“So, may I have this dance?” Baz asks, and smirks cheekily, and my knees go weak.  
“I've never been good at dancing,” I say, which startles him.  
“Oh. I mean – You don't have to. Forget I asked,” he says dismissively, but he looks away and I'm afraid he misunderstood.  
“No, no, I _want_ to dance. I'm just no good at it.”  
“Ah, that we can fix. As it happens, I am an excellent teacher.”  
“Are you now?”  
“You're not thinking about that one time I helped you studying last month, are you?”  
“I have no doubt that you are good at explaining, but -”  
“Yeah, yeah, I promise to be patient this time, alright?”  
“Alright.”  
He takes my hand. It's cold. But I can feel something tingling in my chest – a weirdly giddy feeling.

“Just put your hand on my arm,” he whispers then. “Don't worry about it. I'll lead.”  
His voice is so close to my ear. My heart beat speeds up. He puts a hand on my back.  
“You're gonna have to come a little closer,” he mutters, his gaze low. What is he looking at? Is he looking at me lips? I stumble forward and almost crash into his chest.

“And now?”  
“Now you just – step to the side. Like this.”  
He guides me. And he's weirdly calm and nice. I'm afraid he can hear how my heart is about to leap in my throat – especially considering how close we are, and how he's a vampire.

“Crowley, Snow, did Wellbelove never even teach you how to waltz?”  
“You're the only weirdo who would _waltz_ at a party. The dances we did are a lot less... posh. We would, like, dance Cha Cha and stuff like that.”  
“So, you know how to dance Cha Cha?”  
“Uh... no...”  
“Thought so.”  
He's smirking again. Another song came on and it had a faster beat.

“What now?”  
“Now, you take my other hand.”  
I'm holding both of his hands. Crowley.  
“Then, you do take step forward, like this... and then...”  
Suddenly, Baz whirls me around and I let out a yelp. I hold onto his hands and we spin quickly. A few other students have to make room for us, but Baz just laughs, and I join him.

“Wow, Snow,” he says, “look what a great dancer you can be.”  
“So what do you call this dance?”  
My head is getting dizzy, but I don't want to stop. I just want to keep spinning and let the world fall out of it's angles.

“I call it 'Killer tornado',” he smirks.  
“That's horrib- aaah,” I yell, when he suddenly spins me the other way round and knocks a guy in tux out of the way. We both break out laughing and I let go off his hand, stumble away from him. Panting, we lean side to side against the wall.

“Do you -” I gasp for breath, “- invite all your dates to high school homicide missions?”

His eyes go wide.  
“This is a date?”  
“What? No. Of course not. We're friends.”  
He looks at me doubtful, but then he looks resigned.

“I thought so...”  
“What, I mean, did you – did you want it to be a date?”  
He remains silent.  
“Baz?”  
He gulps.  
“Baz, did you want it to be a date?”  
“I... Yes.”

“Oh.”  
“It doesn't matter. I was just... being stupid.”  
“Stupid?”  
I almost laugh.  
“You're being stupid _right now_.”

“What do you mean?”  
“I _mean_ that I'm painfully obvious. Do you see this grin? Tried all day to get it out of my face, but I just can't.”  
“Why not?”  
“You said yes,” I say in a small voice.

“Oh,” he says, and he looks like he understands. “Really?”  
He moves closer again, and he puts a hand on my cheek.

“I wonder what you're going to do if I kiss you, then.”  
He lowers his head and I glance at his lips.

“I might leap for joy...” I whisper, “or start walking on air.”  
He leans down and whispers just against my lips: “I can't wait to find out.”

When he kisses me, I don't leap for joy or start walking on air. I'm too busy burying my fingers in his hair, holding his hand - and kissing him back.

 


End file.
